


The night the Hawk died.

by LolaCoulson



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But it's ok he's only dead in the Bad Ending, Dead Clint, Don't read the Bad Ending, M/M, Necrophilia, Oh god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LolaCoulson/pseuds/LolaCoulson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil has a dark secret. One he's going to share with Clint. Whether he likes it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The night the Hawk died

**Author's Note:**

> I love this pairing, but I also LOVE dark fics and the internet is decidedly sparse on dark Clint/Phil fics. So took matters into my own hands and VOILÀ! 
> 
> Don't read if non-con, death or creepy stuff isn't for you! XD
> 
>  
> 
> I don't own these guys, but if I did, Clint would be preggers by now. XD

That familiar sensation.

The hands on his back, the feel of the restraints rubbing sore lines against his wrist, the heat of man behind him taking the days frustrations out on his body.  
Clint Barton knew this feeling all to familiar.  
The man, that is, his owner Phil Coulson was currently burying himself deep into Clint, guttural grunts emitting from his throat with each thrust.  
The dingy motel, their usual get-together when a mission was finished, was filling with the scent of sex and dirt. Coulson isn't a man to wait to shower when he needs to be taken care of.

Clint never argues and lays there for him. He can't even truly remember the first time when Phil dragged him down that ally after the task was completed, then something to do with blades, or knives. But Clint wore several more cuts after that mission. No one questioned as it was almost expected of the assassin to have scars and wounds.

Clint found himself almost craving the unusual attention Phil gave him. This mild man held some dark and disturbing secrets inside and took out his deepest desires on him.  
And Barton loved every second, the knives, the blood letting. Scat and furry play. Nothing was too taboo for them. 

But tonight, Clint felt a heated prickle up his spine as Phil lazily dragged his length out of Clint abused hole and replaced it with something cold. 

Something familiar and yet not familiar to the archer.

He heard Phil smirk and the gun barrel was thrust in. Clint arched his back not caring how much noise he made. The gun ripped his insides apart and yet pounded on that tight feeling inside that made him see stars and beg for more.  
Clint rocked back onto the gun as the pain began to dissipate and pleasure took over. Moans of 'More. More. Ohgodmore!' sang through Phils ears and straight to his dick. One hand on the gun and the other stroking himself he watched Clint strain against the bonds trying  
desperately to give himself some release. 

'Ah, ah, ah' Phil chided, 'Be a good boy for me Barton and I'll take care of you'. Clint almost whined at the words and the calmness drifting from Phils voice. But he did as he was told. He always did.

Clint pushed back further, taking the gun almost to the trigger. 

 

Phil stopped palming his own cock, it was time.

He leaned down and rubbed his cheek against Clint sweat-soaked hair. Breathing in his scent. 'Beautiful bird, my beautiful bird. Let me help you, fly'.

Phil thrust the gun deep, and ripped it out aiming at the heart through his back, the shot ripped through Clint. There was no time to react. 

Perfect.

Sitting back, Phil watched Clints body. Waiting. Angel lust, that's what they called it. Dead men getting erections at the time of death. Phil turned Clints body over. He noted that it was surprisingly light. But there, in the faint streetlight coming through the window was his the archers glistening erection.

Straddling Clint, Phil positioned himself above Clints erection and slowly dropped himself down. Phil let out a lengthy moan as he sank further down, only then did he realise that he had his eyes shut. He opened them, widely and started at Clint. He died with his eyes shut. Like the man was sleeping. Phil snorted and using his legs, began a steady rhythm of rising and falling onto Clints cock.

 

Coulson raised his hands above his head and let himself go, riding Clint till his body almost left the bed. He watched his own cock, painfully hard and leaking onto Clints belly, Phil also watched the archers length pounding into his body. He began to pant, stars began to wave into his vision as he almost felt himself go. Gripping Clints shoulders, Phil round down, striking his prostrate with every grind. 

It sent shots up his spine and into his head almost. 'CLINT! Ah! Ugh, god YES! C’mon Hawk, almost, almost, al-most. AHH!' Phil threw his head back, come landing on Clints lifeless body. Phil rode out the rest of his orgasm, panting. 'Good boy Barton, you did well'.


	2. Good Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the jolly ending! Kinda....

GOOD ENDING 

Phil dislodged himself from his former boyfriend, noting that the deadmans erection was still there. Deadman. Huh. Necrophilia was on his list, but killing Barton wasn't. It took precise aim to shoot a man and miss any vital organs. 

'S...sir? I think.....I'm going to die.' Clint blinked in the half-light. 'Barton, you're not going to...' Phil started, 'No sir, I mean, my problem' Clint nodded towards his cock. It also took an amazing amount of willpower to lie still and barely breath and not do anything while the man of your dreams rode your supposedly dead body. Clint groaned and pulled at his bonds. 'You want me to help you?' Phil leaned in, close enough for Clint to smell the sweat cooling on his skin.

'Sorry, you're dead remember and you said we can do anything I wanted to do. I wanted to kill you and fuck that petty corpse all weekend before returning to work. Now, dead men tell no tales and don't whine for their partner to let them come.' Clints eyes grew wide and whimpered as Coulson dragged a fingernail underneath the straining length. 'Now, be a good boy, and die' Coulson winked as he headed to the motel bathroom.


	3. Bad Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bad, sad ending. For those of us that like the really dark.

BAD ENDING

 

Natasha fell to her knees as the coffin lowered, showing a rare moment of pure emotion from her. Shield members, close friends and family all gathered around into the tiny church in Iowa. It was raining and the people huddled, seeking any warmth. They were saying that it was unexpected and unusual. Apparently his body was torn to shreds and already began to decompose by the time the motel owner checked in to see why the occupants hadn't left yet. But what was unusual, was the fact that he was smiling in his forensic photos, a dreamy smile like he was in love. Natasha stormed out of the gathered people as the last of the soil  
was put into place. She couldn't stand their chatter like Clint was just another victim. Even though he was now. She walked past Coulson and managed to smile, faintly before bolting into the church followed by a weary and grieving Steve.

The crowd departed one by one, leaving only Coulson.

'Good boy, Clint' Phil breathlessly moaned to no one. Without tearing his eyes away from the place his former boyfriend lay, Coulson took out his phone and hit the first number in his speed-dial.

 

'Hey, yes, I know what time it is. Get on the next plane to England. I'll tell you when we get there. Oh and Ward, do you have an open mind?'


End file.
